The Guardian
by Batwish
Summary: Kiran is an average village kid, son of the mayor of a destroyed village, the only survivor of a tragedy and viewed as an outcast, he does everything to pretend the past doesn't exist. Fate has different ideas when his brother is fatally injured and only the help of Kiran's old friend, who hates his guts and has been hidden from people for years, can save him.
1. Prologue

**AN: There will be mentions and descriptions of violence and blood, and I'm not entirely sure if my writing falls into the T category. Just a fair warning. Please correct me if it gets too mature.**

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One of the first unwritten rules in nature was to only kill in defense or for food. One would never see a fed wolf chasing a sheep or an unprovoked horse trying to stomp a wolf's spine. When an ocelot was hungry it only hunted down enough chickens to fill its belly, never more. The only exception to this rule were humans. Even the creatures that stalked through the night only attacked those that used to cage them and harvest their bodies after death. Most humans pointed at the monsters when asked for the reason of constant fear and fighting, never putting thought to the similar actions they did the to any creature weaker than themselves.

They would claim that any creature not human, even humans with different views, beliefs and knowledge, was either inferior to them or was a threat to their existence. Naturally, when the dangerous ones were hunted down and killed in dozens and the ones with bloodied swords were hailed like heroes, the remaining survivors developed ways to protect themselves and were agitated at the mere sight of a human. Only more bloodshed followed in the years, centuries and millennia that came and went as war and hatred ruled the world and corrupted innocent hearts.

As was the case of a man and two women, covered from head to toe in gleaming cyan armor, that led their horse-drawn carriage into a small village. Curious heads popped out from behind doors, ogling the strangers that were foolish enough to be outside in the darkness before dawn, the sun only just rising above the horizon. Wary eyes trailed from their sturdy yet bent shining armor to the wooden wagon and tired snow white horse. A cloth covered the inside of the cart, though it was torn and ripped, stripes of fabric flapping in the breeze, and the wood creaked as it stopped moving, hinting at its true age.

One of the women, the one holding the horse's reins, stood up and removed her diamond helmet, exposing short dirty blond hair and a lightly scarred face with piercing gray eyes. Resting the headgear under her arm, she raised the other above her head, along with a beaten and bent gleaming blue sword. Eyes were involuntarily drawn to the weapon and she smiled widely upon seeing she had everyone's attention.

"Villagers!" She shouted, using the voice of a grand storyteller. "We bring news of a new era taking place. The monstrosities that take our freedom and lives at night will soon be a thing of the past!" She paused for a second, allowing the intrigued farmers and fishers of the village to crowd around them and begin murmuring to each other.

"We return from a mighty quest, from the depths of the forsaken place known as the End. Many knights and righteous warriors have tried and failed to explore and map its dark dreary terrain. It is the source of all evil in this world, the monster that resided there was worse than anything this world or the Nether have to offer. But we prevailed and finished the work our ancestors have started. We have vanquished the unholy beast that hid there, the Ender Dragon has finally been slain!" She nearly roared to the sky, thrusting her weapon higher at certain points for emphasis. Her smile had widened to include less sympathy and more teeth as she recalled plunging her sword through the dark scales that decorated the downed dragon's neck.

A wave of confused and disbelieving murmurs washed over the crowd, before being drowned out by loud cheering and whistling coming from the younger population. The elders and hard-working adults scowled and whispered harshly to each other, not believing the traveler's words for a second. 'The end of the constant torment from what lurked in the night', not possible, they claimed. But once the initial reaction creased, the questions, the requests and the accusations began.

"How did you survive?"

"How did you get to that wretched place?"

"What makes you so sure anything's gonna change?"

"Nothin' will. I tell ya, they offer jus' blasphemy."

"Do you have its head?"

"Forget the head! They should make armor out of its hide!"

"And amulets out of its teeth!"

"What is the End?"

All conversation silenced at the seemingly innocent question asked by a kid no more than six years old. She had shoulder-length black hair that barely reached her ears, with unusually long legs and arms and baby fat still rounding her cheeks. Her hands were clasped at her chest as every gaze turned to look at her, but her deep green eyes were filled with curiosity and determination not to be frightened off.

A pair of teenagers snickered in the background and almost every person opened their mouth to reply, but seemed unable to form the words to explain. Brows furrowed and people turned to whisper to their friends and family as everyone in the vicinity realized that they didn't actually know themselves. They had heard about a place of no return in many legends, but it was never explained beyond a sentence of how dark it was and that no one would ever return from there. All that they had needed to understand from the woman's speech was that she claimed to have a solution to an ancient problem. They had never even heard of an 'Ender Dragon' before.

Eyes turned back to the adventurers as the smile on the woman's face fell just a little bit, seemingly annoyed that she would need to explain something so basic. The hand with the sword descended to hang at her side and a dramatic sigh pushed past her lips. One of her companions rolled his eyes skyward before standing up as well and placing a hand on her shoulder. He pushed her aside and said quietly at her murderous glare. "I believe I'm better at this part, Alex."

With a huff, Alex fell back into her seat and the male moved to the front. His armor seemed to be in a worse condition than the woman's, as he was missing the front of a leg covering, his breastplate had a crack running down the middle of it and every piece was covered in a multitude of scratches and dents. He had soft-looking olive skin, a great contrast to the woman's light brown, bright blue eyes and a tuft of russet hair peeking out beneath the gleaming helmet. When he smiled, he was decidedly less vicious than his companion.

"The End, as the desolate place has been named, is another dimension. Just to get there, we needed to traverse both the Overworld and Nether. Legend tells us that it is where the worst evils of the world have been banished, left to rot." Hushed whispers rose from the crowd, people asking their neighbors and friends if they'd heard the legend and a chain of negative responses.

The man waited a few seconds for them to calm down and continued, "These evils reformed as one entity, though the legend has not known that. It is unknown how, but they created a creature to serve them and do their bidding, like spy on us hard-working honest people. These servants have been granted the ability to teleport between the dimensions without the need of a portal." His voice got progressively lower and more mysterious, prompting his listeners to lean forward is suspense. Seeing he had everyone's undivided attention, he also leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, "By the first settlers they were named Endermen."

An uproar took hold of the crowd as the verbal bomb was dropped. Some shouted in surprise, some cursed, some stumbled back and some simply gasped. The little girl who had first asked opened her mouth in a perfect 'o' and her eyes widened. Everyone knew what the adventurer was talking about. Tall skinny monsters with skin blacker than the night that stalked in the shadows and observed from afar. Children were frightened off to bed with stories of how looking into their eyes would spur the beings into aggression and horror stories were told of victims that were hunted down and torn apart limb by limb.

"Yes, those monsters originally came from the End. The evils in that sunless place, the ones responsible for us being hunted, created them to spy on us and never let themselves be seen. They were tasked to kill anyone who ever saw them. And you know why? Because the evils from the End were afraid. Scared that we would go looking for them and get rid of them before they could plan their next strike. And we did!" He shouted suddenly, prompting more cheering from the younger generation.

The diamond-clad man smiled kindly, a smile that would grace a guard's face after saving someone from a dire fate. He continued, "The evils took form in the End. They shaped obsidian for their armor, they knitted wings for their new body. Their hate gave them enough power to burst through any material to get to their unfortunate victim. Their new body was that of a dragon, one that we have faced and slain, and named the Ender Dragon."

Every villager was holding onto his words with wide eyes filled with awe and mouths hanging open in admiration. But once the man stopped talking, disbelief clouded most expressions. No one there had ever heard of a legend like that and many were questioning the truth behind the stranger's words.

"Give us some proof!" A voice rose above the rest and a boy in his early teens fought his way through the crowd, followed by shouts of his parents to get back and another boy who was a splitting image of him, if a few years younger. Both had messy light brown hair and were rather short, with the older having brown eyes and the younger dark blue. The small girl from before spotted them and waved excitedly to the blue-eyed brother with a whispered call of, "Kiran!" The boy responded just as enthusiastically, but his call was lost as more people demanded evidence of the grand deed.

This time, the third person on the wagon stood up, giving a wordless yell to quieten the rowdy crowd. Most people shut their mouths not because of her demand, but because they finally got a good look at her. She was by far the youngest of the three and was missing a helmet and one boot altogether and the rest of her armor looked like it would fall to pieces at the slightest shake. Her right arm was covered by a cast and wrapped in a sling, both of which were stained dark brown with dried blood. A nasty scar stretched from her ear to her collarbone and under her cloths and a part of her hair was missing and replaced with slightly charred tender skin, which could only be the result of fire.

It was obvious she got the worst of whatever fight they'd been in.

Yet, she still smiled brightly when they fell silent, waving away any concerns for her well being, and spoke in a light, excited tone, somehow still carrying the innocence of a child. "That's more like it! Now, of course we have proof, but we have to keep it quiet to avoid bandits and thieves who want the glory for themselves. We have it all here with us. J, if you could?" She motioned to the male, who hopped down from the cart and walked around to the back of it, though not without a grumble, "It's Jacob. You know I hate nicknames, Lilith."

Taking the edge of the dirty once-white fabric, he pulled it half-way off of the cargo. Instantly, the villagers who could see inside gasped audibly. A strange form of skin was stretched and folded on the floor. It seemed to be formed out of tiny jagged obsidian pebbles, which the adventurer quickly explained were scales and that the whole thing was the dragon's hide, and had to be folded over itself at least five times just so it wouldn't peek out of the cart, which was by no means small. At some places the hide was torn or thinner due to missing scales, evidencing how vicious their fight had been.

On top of it was laid an oval mass covered in the same scales and seemingly connected to the hide by a narrow stretch. Most instantly deduced that it was the dragon's head and though it was turned away from them, they could see two horns that protruded from the back of the skull. Next to it, a brown sack was placed and upon opening it, the adventurers revealed four sets of three long curved stark white claws and two smaller straight ones.

But the thing that stole most attention was what looked like a rounded piece of obsidian, easily bigger than a small child. Many questioned it quietly to their friends and then louder for the now deemed heroes to hear. The young injured woman, Lilith, grinned mysteriously at their confusion and spoke in a soft, chilling voice. "That, my dear friends, is the dragon's most guarded prize. That's the dragon's egg!"

Once again, gasps went up from the crowd and they pushed against each other to get a closer look at it. It actually looked a little like a chicken egg, though much larger and of course colored completely wrong. As they were busy ogling the stolen egg, the small black-haired girl pushed her way to the adventurers and approached Alex, who had opted to stay clear of the curious mob of people.

"Uh, miss? Miss Alex?" The child began, looking up at the woman with large eyes. The woman's head snapped down to look at her, seeming startled. "How the Nether did you know my name?" She asked sharply, causing the girl to flinch back a little. Still, she stood her ground. "Yo-your friend called you that name." She explained while rubbing her hands together uncertainly.

Alex opened her mouth to retort, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. A figure swiftly moved past her, only thing noticeable an untamed mane of dark brown hair with turquoise highlights and ends. She huffed as Lilith crouched in front of the girl, brown eyes gentle. She was always better at dealing with people, especially children, probably because she wasn't as scarred by the world as Alex.

"That's really observant, little girl." Lilith said, smiling softly when the girl straightened and beamed under her praise.

"Now, what did you want to ask?"

The child fidgeted for a few moments, losing the courage to ask. These people were heroes, she didn't want to seem stupid in front of them. She had embarrassed herself enough with not knowing what the End was. "I – are you going to keep the dragon as your pet?" She finally blurted out.

Lilith started, surprise evident on her face before she schooled her features again. She was the perfect actor after all, having grown up in a poor family where she had to contribute with a little stealing here and there. She had joined her friends in their quest with the vision that she would be able to clear her name by slaying a great evil, even if she was never caught stealing.

"What dragon do you mean? There is no dragon, we made sure it could never hurt anyone again." She coaxed, careful to avoid the word 'kill', even if the child probably heard it daily.

"I mean the one in the egg." The little girl exclaimed as if it was obvious, a quiet giggle erupting from her throat.

"Of course. Silly me, huh?" The adventurer grinned at the sight of the six-year-old covering her mouth to hide her laugh. Then the subsequent realization of what the child had asked hit her like a brick. Her back straightened and the kind expression slipped from her face. "Of course not!" She nearly shrieked, eyes wide at the mere suggestion and the child jumped back in fright.

Lilith reeled in her shock and continued in a softer tone. Someone should explain the basics of the world to the kid, honestly, she thought. "No, we won't." She said firmly. "We took the egg to make sure it wouldn't hatch, so that no dragon could hurt anyone ever again."

The girl's brows furrowed, a certain spark entering her eyes. Lilith recognized it instantly, it was the determination about being right and the will to talk someone's ears off to prove it. But the girl was way out of her league, she didn't know anything. "It's for the best. You trust me, don't you?" The child paused, then nodded carefully, eyes dimming as she silenced herself. But she still didn't look convinced.

Before she could begin to protest – and Lilith was almost certain she would – a voice rose above the rest, "Amaia!" A boy, probably less than ten years old, with a light brown mop of hair and dark blue eyes, was waving both his arms in their direction as he hurried over. The girl responded in kind and Lilith used the distraction to slip away.

Amaia grinned wide as her friend raced to her side and enveloped her in a crushing hug. Despite being three years apart, they were nearly the same height and were good friends, even if Kiran was overbearingly protective. As he pulled away, he was already pointing excitedly behind him at the crowd of people still observing the cart. "You've got to see this! That dragon was bigger than my house!" He gushed as his eyes sparkled with admiration.

Amaia's eyes widened then narrowed as she stared at her 'big brother' figure. "Na-uh!" The boy only grinned wider. "It is! Maybe big enough to eat it!" He exclaimed. "But your house is huge!"

Amaia's mouth opened to form an 'o' as she tried to imagine how big that was. Her friend was the son of the mayor of their little town and thus had one of the biggest houses in the whole village. His family was the only one to be able to afford a second story that wasn't the roof.

Kiran grabbed her hand a practically dragged her to the wagon and through the crowd. Once they were at the front, they saw that the travelers Alex and Jacob were attempting to stretch the hide of the dragon to show everyone just how big it was. They each took two handfuls, Alex at the head and Jacob at the base of the tail, but they just couldn't keep it suspended well enough for people to see.

Still, it gave them the general idea of how long the creature had been.

Finally they settled on shooing the crowd back and placing the dragon skin on the ground, even if Jacob cringed at how dirty the cobblestone was. Amaia gasped as she watched them lay it out, finally catching a good look at the head. It was fearsome, to say the least. Its snout was littered with cuts and scars, evidencing many fights in the past. The scales that had looked so smooth on its hide were rough and barbed, with sharp ends sticking out on every bend of the skull underneath. A crown of short horns set right behind its eyes, all curved and thick with one pair reaching much further back, twisted and gnarled like the branches of an ancient tree. The dragon's lips were still pulled back in a snarl, frozen in the hateful expression it had in death.

But the most chilling part were the eyes. Though narrowed, Amaia could deduce they were oval when opened wide, with a thin scratch-like pupil separating each eye in two. The eyes were colored a deep dark amethyst at the edges and gradually faded into a soft lilac around the pupil. A glare was forever frozen in them, probably the look the dragon had given its killers, and the child could swear it was still looking at them with that hatred.

As the adventurers carefully arranged it on the ground, Amaia had to admit it was huge. Its wings, pitch black just like the rest of it, spanned easily over ten yards from one tip to the other. Both its neck and tail were as long as a wing and rather thin, the backbone being decorated with long narrow fin-like spines. Where the dragon's rib cage used to be, the hide was wider across and had cut off stumps where its legs should have been.

Amaia gaped in astonishment at the sheer size of the slain beast. "See! I told you!" Kiran suddenly spoke up from her side, wiggling in between two villagers to get to his friend. She only turned to him with a large smile and an excited hand pointing to the head of the dragon. The stars shining in her eyes made him laugh lightly as she urged them forward, completely disregarding the grumbling adults around them. The two children hurried along the front of the crowd, a cacophony of "hey watch it!" and "Get back to your parents" following behind them.

Soon, they were standing beside Alex, and ogling the frightening scaly face. The adventuress huffed and glared at them when they tried to touch it and shooed them away soon enough with a harsh "there, you saw it. Now go."

Amaia grabbed Kiran's hand as his face pinched from the biting tone and led him away. Only when the woman had turned away from them did Amaia turn around and stick her tongue in retribution, making her friend smile slightly. "Yeah, you show her!" He cheered quietly, pausing to give a breathy laugh.

Amaia tugged him a bit more insistently when he stopped and he turned to her questioningly. She just pointed to the wagon, left a ways away from the crowd. The horse was still tied to it and looked quite indignant about it, eyeing a patch of vibrant green grass just out of reach. Kiran grinned in recognition and allowed himself to be dragged out of the crowd and to the white animal by the surprisingly strong six-year-old.

Once they were free of the people and Amaia was sure he would follow her, she let go of his hand and raced to the horse. Instantly upon reaching it, she stood on her tiptoes and placed a small hand slowly on its snout, remembering to not startle the animal. It still neighed it surprise at the tiny pudgy fingers that patted its nose. It pulled its head back after a second, causing the child to stumble and went back to trying to reach the few blades of grass next to a fence. It pawed the ground under its hooves in agitation and threw its head to the side, jiggling the decorative pieces of metal hanging from its reins.

The small girl saw this and frowned for a second before walking over and pulling a few blades from the grassy ground. Spinning around, she offered them to the horse on a flat open palm and the animal instantly gobbled them down, snorting and sniffing her hand after they were gone. Kiran smirked at the display, recalling the way his friend would always find a way to climb onto the gate to the horse pens in the village stables, sit next to one and just talk to it and pet it till the stable worker found her and kicked her out. She did so almost fondly, knowing the child would be back the next day.

Kiran was jerked back to the present by the creaking of aged wood and hooves stomping. He snapped his gaze to the horse and his friend and laughed a little when he saw the horse happily munching on the grass, having walked over to it and dragged the carriage with it. Amaia was standing next to it, patting its flank as silent giggles overtook her body.

Suddenly, a crash sounded from the back of the cart, snapping both youths to attention. Amaia jumped back from the horse, before peering closer at the source of the crash. Kiran came to stand beside her and both stared at the oval rock-like egg. Amaia stepped forward cautiously, but was stopped when Kiran placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come on." He urged, stepping back a little, but the girl stood her ground stubbornly.

"They're gonna think we're stealing it." He hissed, glancing in the direction of the adults, who were oblivious to the displacement of their precious prize. It seemed that the young adventurer was telling a grand tale about how they defeated the Ender Dragon, with both of her comrades interrupting her and correcting details.

"Aw! I just want a look!" Amaia complained before darting forth and ripping herself from his grip. By the time he regained his bearings and bolted after her, she was already crouching over the purple and black object and was hesitantly poking it with a finger. After it didn't do anything at a simple poke, she placed her whole palm on it and with a yelp pulled away.

Kiran was at her side is an instant, concern written all over his face. Tears welled up in Amaia's eyes and her pupils widened as she gazed up at him. She was cradling her hand as though it was burnt and only after insistent persuading did she show it to him. The skin looked fine, smooth as ever and unblemished by any wound. But as he ran a finger along it, he gasped and pulled back in shock. Her skin was _freezing_!

As he rubbed his hands together to get rid of the unnatural chill, he noticed that the crevices in her skin seemed to change color from shadowed to a dark purple and gradually to a bright lilac that seemed to glow. Panic-stricken eyes looked at him as a tear rolled down the girl's face, but he could do nothing as the glow spread to more and more of her palm. The liquid gathering in her eyes glistened in the sun, but when shadowed by her hair, seemed to be outlined with a violet gleam.

"It'll be alright, Amaia. It'll be okay." He assured as he racked his brain for a solution to the situation. But this was not something his parents prepared him to deal with. All they ever told him was to comfort the people in need and to call them when trouble arose. With moisture glistening in his own eyes, he raised his head and hollered to the sky. "Mon! Dad! Help!"

All noise from the crowd silenced as they looked for the source of the call. One of the adventurers was still holding the Eye of Ender they had been trying to explain to the villagers, but it was quickly abandoned on a nearby outside table. Figures pushed through the stunned mob and Kiran was relieved to see his parents among them. He glanced back to his friend, to assure her or himself of her well-being he wasn't sure. But all he saw was her reaching her now brightly glowing hand to the black shell again, tears drying up and eyes glassy and unfocused.

He glanced to the egg and after a moment noticed what had entranced his friend. Running down the length of hard ebony shell was a thin crack, as though only caused by a nail. Through it, chilling bright purple light shone out and nearly blinded him, accompanied by a wispy dark purple fog, similar to his breath in the cold of winter. It was both haunting and enchanting, and Kiran was too busy inspecting it to notice Amaia place her hand on the fissure and slide it down it. The glow intensified and enveloped everything around him.

Blue eyes wide with fear, Kiran tried to jerk back or yelp or scream, but his whole body was frozen in place. A coldness surrounded him, seeping into his very bones and numbing every muscle from the inside. The world faded from all his other senses, sound quietened to whispers and to nothing, his body seemed to detach from the rough cobblestone road and the smell of livestock and cut wood and grass disappeared.

A second later, the world appeared around him again and the malevolent presence vanished. He gazed around wildly as the ground returned under his feet, cold and unforgiving, and his balance was thrown off, sending him crashing to the ground. Startled cries of villagers and orders of an authoritative voice he couldn't place dimly registered in his mind as he pushed himself up, tears brimming in his eyes as pain danced over dozens of scratches on his forearms.

When he managed to sit up, he figured out what all the fuss was about. The egg, which had gleamed in the sun like a dark purple gem was now darker than black, not even the barest of amethyst spots visible. Where the crack had glowed before, was now only blackness that seemed to be oozing an ebony mucus-like substance.

But that all seemed insignificant once Kiran registered not what was in the scene, but what _wasn't_. Where Amaia had stood was only a circle of disturbed dust and a tiny flat shard that looked eerily similar to the scales of the dead dragon.


	2. Chapter 1

A half moon shone proudly in the sky, encircled by stars and inky blackness. Below it, tall trees with thick deep brown trunks and vibrant green leaves watched over the land. The grass and undergrowth below were hidden in darkness, robbed of the soft moonlight by the jungle trees. Shadows danced around the blackness, just at the corner of sight, humming a chilling melody.

A figure tore through the low-hanging branches, making them sway in its wake, as stray shafts of light made it glow white. A loud clear ring echoed after it as iron struck iron accidentally, closely followed by soft cursing. Leaves out of the figure's reach rustled and wood snapped and creaked as it was broken, freezing the figure in its place. Whispered hisses and soft steps sounded like thunder in the silence, betraying the creature's location.

The figure shifted its stance, knees bent, feet apart and ready to spring into action. Its left arm extended to the side, revealing a long, silver blade clutched in its fingers. Skittish eyes narrowed at the shadowed foliage, not for the first time wishing for the leafy canopy above to disappear. Suddenly, a second figure, mottled green as the leaves with four stubby legs and an ever-present frown, crashed through a bush to the left of the iron-clad silhouette – revealed in moonlight to be a short human male.

Yelling in surprise, the fighter backed away from the approaching creature, before regaining his senses and instead leaning forward with his sword pointed at the monster's chest. With swift and deadly movements, he darted a few steps forward and jabbed his sword up to its hilt into the creature's ribs and heart. Green, barbed skin tore and paled, quickly stained with a dark brownish red liquid, and the monster hissed, agitated, before its body seemed to expand and turn white. The human was already turning, having ripped his sword out, and upon spotting green turn white, he flung himself onto the grass, curling into a ball, sword raised to protect his face.

Tremendous force slammed into his front, stealing his breath away and pushing his sword against his cheek, as the creature was ripped apart from within by a violent explosion. He rolled a few times, gasping for breath and cupping his shoulder, which had collided with an exposed rock, and a single drop of blood trickled down his cheek like a tear.

His chest burned as he heaved lungfuls of air and the sword hung limply in his aching arm. Where the green monster had been, only a deep crater was left, earth cascading down the edges and piling at the bottom along with pebbles, branches, vines and ripped leathery stripes which could only be remains of the monster. Cradling his hurt shoulder, sword returned to its sheath, the human scrambled to his feet and started in a light jog in the direction he had been running in earlier.

Something narrow whistled through the air, heading for the space where he had stood and embedded itself into the earth with a hollow thunk. More wooden arrows whizzed after it, aiming higher and getting dangerously close to piercing the fleeing being's flesh. He only pushed his legs to go faster, ignoring the burning sensation in his muscles. A clank sounded as one of the arrows hit the side of his torso, bouncing off of the sturdy iron covering with only a shallow scratch.

The human was thrown forward with the force of the attack and a yelp tore out of his throat as he stumbled, foot hooking under a stray root and sending him to his side. He nearly screamed when he landed on his left shoulder, which had previously been dislocated, the sudden impact pushing it more or less back into place with a pulse of agony. Biting the inside of his cheek, he pushed himself onto his feet and with shaken breaths, started to run again, refusing to let his weakness show.

Through the dreary mass of darkened trees, slivers of flickering yellow light appeared, becoming more frequent as the human sped past more trees. The undergrowth and creeping vines that tripped him at every step thinned out and disappeared altogether, clearing a straight path towards the soft glow. The man's legs slowed and knees buckled as he recognized the familiar glow of torches. He released a shaky relieved laugh and hobbled his way to the treeline, breaking through an invisible barrier as he crossed into the moonlit meadow. He would have collapsed then and there from stress and exhaustion, had he not heard the many groans and scurrying footsteps and the chuckling silky foreign language.

Out of numerous hollowed-out pumpkins with carved faces shone bright firelight, illuminating gravel paths and simple wooden houses. A short fence lined the outside of the settlement with two gates on the opposite sides of the village, barely big enough to let an average cart through. Further along the wooden divide, clanks and dulled slaps of ripped, decaying skin were heard as undead creatures fought fruitlessly against the old but sturdy wood.

Shuffling footsteps sounded from behind the human, multiple pairs and much closer than the other, sending shivers of fear down his spine. He drew his sword again, wincing as he was forced to move his shoulder, but instead of turning around to fight, used the weapon as a cane to help him stumble to the safety of the village. His muscles revolted against the abuse and one of his knees had gone numb after getting hit by overgrown roots or broken branches too many times. His whole body also ached from thousands of cuts and scrapes on every inch of exposed skin.

He had just reached the gate and was hurriedly fumbling with the lock, a simple horseshoe of iron that hooked around the handles of the gate doors, when a disgusting squishy hand grabbed his shoulder in a desperately strong grip. Shrieking at the top of his lungs in both surprise and fear, the human let go of the gate and spun around to smack the owner of the hand in the face. A spray of decayed bits of flesh and brownish black blood landed on his face, accompanied by a foul, rotting smell.

Feeling like retching, the fighter slapped the zombie again and again, until suddenly its lower jaw came unhinged and in its surprise, the undead mob let go of the human's shoulder in an attempt to fix its mouth. Not paying attention to the black and yellow teeth that fell from the gaping maw, the man spun around and nearly ripped the lock off of the gate, pushing it open and then slamming it shut.

Breathing hard, with spots dancing in his vision and shaking hands, he replaced the iron clasp and took a few steps back from the green hands reaching for his healthy flesh. Feeling lightheaded and aching all over, he attempted to shuffle his way home, only to lose balance once he turned around. The sky became the ground and the gravel grains became the stars as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body, exhausted and barely functioning due to unseen damage, collapsed on the spot.

* * *

The sun blazed with a life-giving light and warmth as it rose over the tall trees of the jungle, painting the sky with oranges and pale pinks. Stripes of shadows created by hanging vines and thick tree trunks covered a small village hidden in a meadow between a dark forest and a jungle. A single figure, a tall bald man robed in a leather tunic and pants with a simple chipped wooden sword at his hip, made his way around the houses, systematically putting out torches hidden in large hollow pumpkins.

He cleared another corner, bending down to reach the carved mouth of one of the large orange plants, and suffocated the flame inside with a thick wet cloth. A light breeze picked up, blowing smoke and ash into the man's face and making him mutter. He turned his face away to dust off the black powder, when the telltale silver glint of something metal half-buried in the grass right next to the gravel road leading out of the village caught his eye. Brows furrowing, he hurried over, a sense of dread knotting his stomach as the object took shape and light gleamed on cracks and dents.

By the time he reached it, he knew it was a person wearing iron armor laying spread motionless on the ground. A shimmering iron sword was placed in limp fingers and the figure's breathing was soft and sore, like after nearly drowning. The village guard couldn't see any blood, but the left shoulder was twisted uncomfortably and the armor was bent and filthy.

The man fell to his knees next to the prone form and instantly set about undoing various leather straps in the armor. He had never worn metal armor himself, but the blacksmith often warned customers that it would make breathing hard. He gently removed the breastplate and the body was instantly racked with a violent cough. The spasms passed in a second and the figure continued breathing deeply. The man sighed in relief and wiped his hands on his clothes, before reaching for the helmet and sliding it off of the unconscious human. A gasp came from the leather-clad man and the headgear fell from his limp grip as an unruly mop of brown hair spread around the head.

He knew this man.

It was his neighbor, a young man named Jasper, about nineteen years old, with the most peculiar ideas of the world. He would leave the safety of their village every night to fight and kill the monstrosities that pounded away at the fence in darkness and come back with scores of invaluable resources, almost always with a new injury that the healer would need to treat. But he had never been unconscious or even remotely exhausted, as he would return before the worst of the night could come out, though the villagers suspected it was because he didn't want to worry his younger brother Kiran, rather than fear. Though the miners of the village, who knew just how dangerous mobs could be, warned him and tried to dissuade from his nightly escapades, he never listened and the village thrived from his bravery. Now the guard was berating himself for not stopping the boy, as he laid in his arms, no doubt balancing on the line of life and death.

"Chiron!" The man bellowed, guilty panic gripping his heart as he watched the teenager laying in his arms, breathing barely visible. There was the sound of a door opening and annoyed grumbles, a miner who had been woken by the shout. More followed, worry dragging the late sleepers out of their warm beds. Hurried footsteps sounded from behind the guard and suddenly there was another form crouching next to Jasper's figure.

Small young hands frantically took one of the boy's into their grip and broken whispers sounded as the newcomer clutched the hand to his chest in worry. The bald man looked up to see a teenager, with light brown hair and brilliant ocean blue eyes that now sparkled with tears. Under the boy's eyes large sunken bags were placed, as though he hadn't slept and his dull green shirt and light blue jeans were wrinkled and dirty. Kiran stared at his brother intently, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest and praying that it wouldn't suddenly stop.

The guard's heart cried painfully at the sight of the sixteen year old, knowing his brother was all he had. Most people in the small town, the guard included, weren't very fond of boy and he was in response closed-off and distant to everyone but his brother. Beyond trading and working for someone, he only ever talked to the healer's apprentice out of the people in the town and he looked really happy and talkative then, not the empty smile he would give everyone else. No one really knew why, but most theorized he went through something traumatic as a child.

A new silhouette came into the scene and slid to a stop next to the boy, closely followed by another one. The first one was an aging man with graying dirty brown hair, clothed in a purple robe, who went instantly to tending to the injured man. The second was a teenage girl, with curly fiery red locks that faded into a bright yellow and two daggers strapped to her left hip, was standing motionlessly behind him, holding several glass bottles and bowls of herbs.

"Chiron." The guard said, addressing the old man as he stepped back to give him space to work. "I found him here like this. Didn't dare move him." He reported, though cut himself off as the healer, Chiron, waved him off. He placed his hands on Jasper's chest and gently massaged certain spots, carefully watching the unconscious boy's subtle reactions. Then he moved onto his arms, arranging them to lay next to his sides as though he were asleep.

"Wilma, do you recognize any damage? How would you treat him?" Chiron asked the girl standing behind him, his apprentice. She hesitated a little before answering, knowing that the situation wasn't dire since she was being questioned. "Three broken or cracked ribs. Should be treated with a regeneration potion or a poultice of comfrey roots and nettle leaves rubbed into the skin." She reported and her mentor nodded. "Shoulder has been dislocated but is now back in place. Should be immobilized for some time."

Chiron nodded once before turning to the injured boy, giving him a once over. "He also exhausted his body beyond what is healthy, but that can be easily fixed with some rest."

Kiran watched with tears blurring his vision as the healer stood, turning to the curious crowd that had been watching them from a distance. With a booming voice, he addressed them, "You two," he called, pointing to a woman and man holding hands at the front of the group. "Get over here and take this man back to his hut, gently! Wilma, I need you to start crushing the poultice for his ribs. And get some bandages to make a sling for his arm."

The girl dashed off to full-fill her orders and the couple moved forward to heave Jasper into their arms. Kiran followed them silently, every so often a sob escaping his lips. The world around him blurred as people passed by, giving him pitiful looks but never stopping. He felt as though a hole had been carved into his heart and was oozing everything good and light. Eventually, they came upon a small three-room house and entered through the front door. Kiran barely noticed that it was his and his brother's tiny cottage. Jasper was set on his bed and the healer hurried back and forth, bringing herbs and bandages and potions that would help. Wilma stood on the side, fruitlessly trying to comfort the crying teenager and helping her mentor when he asked. But then they also had to leave and Kiran was left all alone, his only source of comfort the healer's assurance that his brother would wake up by the next morning.

The day dragged on slowly for the boy as he sat next to his brother and held a silent vigil. Wilma came to talk to him a few times and left some instructions for Jasper once he woke up as well as medication. As the sun rose and fell back behind the horizon, the younger boy still sat next to his brother's form, who looked like he was only sleeping. When the moon rose and the stars spun around the sky, Kiran was forced away from the room by his only friend, the healer's apprentice, and sat at the dinner table in front of a simple mushroom stew.

He tried to resist, but a hard glare silenced his complaints and he slowly swallowed a spoonful. The food was stale and tasteless, but a loud grumble reminded him that he hadn't eaten all day and half the night and his stomach was folding in on itself. He nearly choked on the food as he shoveled it down his throat despite the taste, until the bowl was completely empty.

Wilma gave him a pointed glare as she collected the utensil and placed it on the counter, before taking a seat on the only other chair in the room. Watching him fidget from across the table, the flame-haired girl decided to stop beating around the bush.

"Ky," she started, unsure, before steeling her expression. "I have the poultice for Jasper's ribs. We are out of regeneration potions and a healing one would risk hurting his lungs or muscles." She explained, though through the grieving haze in Kiran's mind, he felt it was rushed. Looking at her, he could tell that wasn't what she actually wanted to address.

Still, he only nodded numbly and followed her back to the bedroom, waiting aside while she prepared the medicine. It looked and felt like slime, was even green as such, but he knew it was a mix of crushed leaves and roots. The young healer slid the sheets off of his brother's exposed chest and set to work massaging the dull green juice into his skin. Kiran stood by the foot of the bed, holding the bowl with Wilma's medicine and staring emptily at his only family. They were so close now, inseparable, but that was born more out of need and grief than actual sibling love. No matter how much Kiran tried.

When they had been kids, Jasper would often push his brother aside, refusing to be seen talking to a kid. He would avoid the boy, even outright telling him to go away, just so he could play with older kids. But Kiran never gave up; he would follow his brother like a second shadow, he always found a way to pester and bother the older sibling.

He felt like Jasper had just started to open up and accept his little brother, when their world came crashing down. It was named 'The Curse of Ender', a horrible tragedy that swept through Kiran's old village, leaving behind a carnage unlike any other with mangled corpses, withered flesh and plants and everything robbed of color, blood and bone shining like morning dew in the sickeningly barren land and the screams, cries of pain, howls of unimaginable agony, and parents drowning in darkness, their skin blackening and shriveling and their flesh rotting as they cried and called for help and oh god, it was his fault; they died, suffered endlessly and he couldn't help, but _it was all his fault…_

"Kiran!" The boy's glassy eyes snapped back into focus as he recognized a hand holding his shoulder in an iron grip, shaking him and an unfamiliar stinging sensation on his cheek. Slowly, he brought his fingers to the sting, brushing against the skin and was rewarded by a hot soreness spreading around the spot.

Seeing that he was back in the present, Wilma removed her hand and took a step away to give him some breathing space. The boy stared at her as though in a trance as he processed what had happened. He was home, his new home, his brother was injured and unconscious, the tragedy had passed and wouldn't come back. There was also the palm-sized red painful mark on his face.

"Did you slap me?" He asked in disbelief and noted how Wilma had to fight an embarrassed blush at his observation. She shrugged in response, averting her eyes as he slowly worked through the fog in his brain to figure out the proper reaction.

A few moments later, the girl started when her companion burst into jovial laughter. He knew the correct response would be to act shocked or insulted, but in the honesty behind closed doors, he could only snicker and bend over with loud giggles as he let all his worked-up stress pour into the sound. The whole situation was just too surreal to act all serious. He heaved for breath between laughs and after a whole minute, finally manged to calm down.

He gazed up, blue eyes bright and a full-blown, if a little crazy, grin on his face. Dark brown eyes stared back with a deadpan expression, though he noticed that Wilma was repressing a small smile herself. "Thanks!" He said happily, no doubt looking mentally unstable. He wasn't, but the events of the day were just too much for his slim young shoulders. "I needed that, really."

His friend watched him for a moment more before breaking her stare and turning back to her patient. She set the bowl that was placed on Jasper's bed on a small cabinet behind her and went about tucking the simple sheets back around him. She was almost done, with Kiran looking away to keep from breaking down, when a gasp was pulled out of her mouth.

The boy's attention was on her instantly, good mood fading faster than morning dew, but he could only see the back of her head as she leaned in to study something on Jasper's face. Kiran pushed off the wall he was leaning against hurriedly and sped to her side, also invading the unconscious man's personal space as he struggled to look around the red locks.

Then Wilma pulled back with a sharp inhale and Kiran could see what startled her. On his brother's cheekbone, where a long bloody line had been carved into his skin, was an unnatural mark. The cut had been cleaned and disinfected and was already scabbed over and Kiran personally thought it was healing quiet nicely, though he knew it would leave a scar. A simple pale purple swirl marred Jasper's cheek; the slight coloration was barely visible and left the skin free of any depressions, and Kiran would have missed it without Wilma's keen eye. The tail of it seemed to connect to one end of the cut and the length of it curled along the bridge of his nose and circled a closed eye.

The younger brother stared, entranced and wary, and one of his hands rose slowly, not completely of his own accord. Fingers spreading, he inched closer to the purplish mark, the sight of it holding him in a trance. He was just about to run his fingertips across the mark, half-hoping he could wipe it away like dirt even though it wasn't natural and had definitely not been there before, when a brutally strong grip surrounded his wrist, cutting of the blood circulation and halting his advance.

Wilma pulled his hand away roughly, not at all hindered by his unwillingness to be moved. Kiran blinked a little as he was pulled far enough away, feeling like a spell was lifted off his mind, and softly counted to ten to help focus his brain. He glanced up at his friend, who had lessened her hold on his hand but still kept it in place to assure he wouldn't do anything, and then at his brother. Along the mark, which now seemed darker and thicker than before, a soft pulsing violet light glowed, lighting up the middle of the line with a bright stripe.

The glow faded gradually, like a dying flame, before the mark was barely visible again. Then, it darkened, a nearly black line curving down the middle of it, and the faint edges seemed to grow out like roots, decorating the original swirl with a multitude of tiny ones. Kiran could only stare in horror, his last hopes of it not being supernatural blowing away with his breath.

"What was that?" He breathed eventually, fear clouding his voice as he relived his initial reaction again and again. If Wilma hadn't stopped him... would the mark – a disease he was sure – have spread more? Would it have infected him as well?

The boy cradled his hand to his chest as his gaze flickered between the unconscious form and his redheaded friend. The girl herself was glaring intensely at the mark, never blinking until it completely darkened to an amethyst hue and ceased expanding.

"Don't touch it." She warned after she was sure the mark was again dormant. "I have no idea what it is, but it's definitely magical. Better not let it spread." As the echo of the words hung in the air around the two, Kiran could only inhale sharply with wide eyes.

He looked around fearfully, for a moment forgetting they were in his house, well away from possible eavesdroppers. After the initial panic, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned to address Wilma. He hissed a warning at her, not daring to speak any louder. "Are you nuts? You can't just say something like that out loud! You most of all should know how much normal people despise any mentions of magic."

He attempted to glare at her, but was met with an unresponsive mask and stoic expression in the girl's brown eyes. Despite the lack of a reaction, he continued, "you're lucky enough that the villagers around here respect Chiron enough to turn a blind eye to his use of potions. For the sake of Nether, if that got out, you two would be executed for betraying us to the mobs." Still, no response was granted as the healer's apprentice turned her attention to the injured human again.

"I'm aware." She said eventually. "Speaking of which, we have no ghast tears left. Chiron needs them to brew the regeneration potion for your brother. We have enough nether wart from a small garden in the basement."

The gravity of his warning seemed to have flown right over her head. Kiran stared in silence at her words, mind spinning at impossible speeds. The mention of potions was tugging at something in his mind, though the teenager couldn't truly grasp what it was. It was something bad, he knew that much; maybe a warning?

Wilma was ignorant of his inner debate as she went on. "The best way to get some would be to wait for a traveling cart and stop it either before it enters or after it leaves town. It would do us no good if traders started to associate our villager with potion makers…"

The girl kept talking, but her voice faded from Kiran's mind as he dug deeper and deeper into his memories. What was he missing? He knew there was something, he just had to find it. A familiar drone of voices rose from the deepest part of his subconsciousness, slowly being dragged forward. The voices became louder and clearer, seeming to multiply as they cleared. It was obviously a memory from some trading center. There were many adult voices overlapping each other, some making friendly talk, some shouting their negative opinions to the sky and others bartering over their valuables. A single voice separated from the imaginary chaos and quickly became loud enough to be understood, _"Kire, honey, don't go there. They don't sell anything good. Let's look at the food stand instead. No. You can't go buy potions, it'll do you no good."_

"Ky, are you listening?" Wilma cut off her monologue when she saw the boy's eyes darken with sadness and his shoulders lift to his bowed head, as though he was trying to protect himself from some unseen attack. Kiran's eyes glistened as he recognized the disembodied voice from his memories. Father.

The boy kept quiet, tears once again brimming in his eyes as he thought of the kind aged man he had called father. His would forever remember his powerful, yet humorous voice and his understanding eyes. He had been the mayor of their village and a good one. He was fair and strong, and always managed to solve any problem without violence. Kiran glanced at the motionless figure of his brother. Jasper couldn't remember, he knew. His brother couldn't remember anything; and the younger envied him that. He knew the bliss of not knowing.

" _Remember, Kiran, any kind of potions are dangerous. Even if they seem helpful, you don't know what they're doing to you. There are harmful side effects."_ The deep authoritative voice told him, on occasions fading into the drone of voices that surrounded it. There was a pause – Kiran wondered if someone else was talking that he couldn't recall in the memory – and then his father sighed. _"I don't know why they allow it to go on. They should throw them to the dungeons, honestly. But this isn't our village; we are guests here and they seem to have it under control. Seems their healers use them as well!_ _They're stupid to do so. They'll invite disease and darkness."_

Suddenly, a scene formed in the boy's mind. It was a market square, crowded with colorful stands selling all kinds of necessities and valuables and people, poor and rich, clothed in all assortments of outfits, mingled around, pushing each other to get to their destinations. Like the howl of a pack of wolves, their chatter faded into a single dull drone that filled the background. Right in front of Kiran's eyes, stood a stand very different from its brethren. It was much smaller, easily overlooked in the shadows of the much more vibrant tents, and unlike the rest, it had walls of dark blue and green fabric running down its sides and the roof was the usual pointed style. Only a small rift served as both entrance and exit and allowed soft unnatural light to filter to the outside.

Kiran felt his body – suddenly much shorter and less balanced – take a step in that direction, not of his free will, before a figure hurried past him and knocked him to the ground. He barely caught glimpse of a long purple robe and shoulder-length dirty blond hair, before the strange man disappeared into the dark stand.

A gentle hand appeared on Kiran's shoulder, helping him up and the boy found himself staring into soft light brown eyes and a kind smile as his father lifted him up and he was just so happy to really see and feel him, that maybe what had happened was just a dream, a nightmare–

Kiran jerked back at the onslaught of emotions and shook the memory free of his mind. It was just wishful thinking, he knew, but he couldn't help hoping and wishing for it to be true. The words still rang in his ears and he locked eyes with his companion, the tugging feeling from before disappearing. Wilma watched him carefully with furrowed brows as he once again broke free of the memory. She wandered what he saw and was ready to rush forward to comfort him if it triggered an unpleasant reaction. She was, however, not ready for the boy to explode on her.

"Would you give it a rest with the potions?!" He snapped, glaring at her with fury twisting his features into a dangerous frightening mask. "Why can't this village just work like very other and heal people with actual medicine? Not some witchcraft. And don't give me anything about my brother being a special case, every town has warriors that fight in the night! For all I know, he is in this condition because of the potions and spells!" He snarled, ignoring Wilma's cross muttering about using no spells. As he broke off his tirade to draw a breath, he pointed an accusing finger at the mark on Jasper's cheek. "That thing is probably your fault too."

The girl, who had up to that point kept a cool mask over her annoyance, bristled at the accusation. She grit her teeth as she held back a biting response; instead she breathed deeply through her nose and answered evenly. "I know you're worried Ky, but shouting isn't going to help." Wilma tried to placate the rising anger she could see on Kiran's face. "The mark is definitely not a side effect. And the only potions we use are those that we know are safe."

He continued to glare fiercely, before all his strength seemed to be sapped from his body and he collapsed on the side of the bed, face held in his hands. He choked out an illegible apology, though Wilma ignored it. The boy pulled his knees under his chin and curled into a traditional fatal position. He just couldn't bear what was happening while sitting uselessly on the sidelines and it was starting to show.

Lean muscular arms carefully wrapped around his neck and a chin was set on his shoulder. He felt himself be pressed against another body and heard comforting words being whispered into his ear. His shaking ceased slowly, his hands finding their way to the back of whoever was hugging him. He didn't dare move, fearing the illusion of gaining closure would disappear if he did. He held tightly onto the moment, but it had to end.

Wilma pulled back, separating them as she left Kiran's personal space. The boy pushed himself to his feet and offered a small smile. He tried to mentally convey his appreciation as the apprentice healer gathered her stuff and moved to the front door. Her hand landed on the knob as she prepared to exit, when she seemed to recall something and stopped. She turned to find Kiran watching her from his spot leaning against the opposite wall. Hesitation played with her features as she spoke. "Actually, there's something you can do. Like I said, we can't make the right potion right now and the chances of a cart that has what we need coming through here are slim. Could you ride to Miner's Forge? You know, the nearest town from here, about a two days' journey on horseback south."

The words had barely left her mouth when Kiran was already standing at attention, determination in his gaze. He had never left the safety of his village before, but thinking back to his brother made him brave enough to try. He nodded severely and the girl continued. "Their market is pretty big. If you could get a few ghast tears, that would help enormously."

She reached into a pocket on her trousers and pulled out a small leather pouch. She jiggled it a little and Kiran heard clanks of gems from inside. Wilma threw it at him, nearly breaking his nose had he not caught it at the last second. "Here's some emeralds and gold. Believe it or not, the fools down there pay with emeralds. I have no idea where they mine to get so many of them; I got all those just from trading some things with them. You can keep the gold, but return the leftover emeralds when you return."

The boy cautiously untied the white string keeping the pouch closed and nearly dropped everything when he looked inside. At least three handfuls of sharp-edged glittering green crystals blinked up at him, along with enough gold coins to buy food for the whole village for a week-long feast. Gaping in disbelief, he looked up at Wilma, noticing her amused expression. "Ghast tears aren't easy to get and cost twice as much. That and the people there are impossibly greedy."

"But this much? Just with this, no miner would have to mine coal and iron for a month and we would still live in luxury. Why didn't you give it to the mayor?" He whispered, horror taking over his features. The healer's apprentice sighed as she answered. "I know, but I need those gems to buy herbs that we can't get here. And you will need coins in the coming weeks. I would come with you, but I need to stay here to get Chiron off your back. He won't like this if he catches wind of it, and Notch knows his wrath is worse than a horde of zombies."

Once again, she turned to leave, clicking the knob and opening the door. Just as it was about to close behind her, she paused again, "Also, if you come across a healer, ask them if they know anything about Lanrete Amoc. If they don't or aren't willing to talk, just let it be. Better not give them any rumors. Good luck, Ky."

"What? Wait, Wil–!" The door closed with a click, cutting off Kiran's surprised call. He frowned at the door, internally seething at his rude friend. She had some nerve, asking him for a favor without waiting for his answer, why should he even–

Because it was for his brother.

The boy deflated, messy hair flopping over his eyes as his glaring ceased. He knew he would be doing it for Jasper, not for Wilma. She could have easily just done as Chiron had instructed her and not get him involved. Still, she could have been a bit kinder, no matter how much she wanted to hold her reputation of Ice Queen. Kiran sighed as he turned to go to his and Jasper's room, pausing only to quickly stick his tongue out at the door.

"Time to get ready, I guess."

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 **AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited an followed this story. I really hope this chapter didn't disappoint, cuz it was a pain to write. I'm just not good with some scenes.**


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